


Infusion

by Fluterbev



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Blair Sandburg: Shaman, Missing Scene, Other, Peru, Shamanism, Slice of Life, Tea, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-25
Updated: 2007-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 19:56:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluterbev/pseuds/Fluterbev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even shamans need time out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Infusion

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Immersion (Slash Version)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/47896) by [Fluterbev](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluterbev/pseuds/Fluterbev). 
  * Inspired by [Immersion (Gen Version)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/944175) by [Fluterbev](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluterbev/pseuds/Fluterbev). 



> Written as part of the 'OMC/OFC' challenge at Sentinel Thursday. This is a missing scene for my story 'Immersion'. It can alternatively be regarded as a stand-alone story (it's fairly self-explanatory!)

 

Things had certainly been simpler (and frequently less aggravating) for Ninapakcha before his apprentice had come to live with the Chopec. But one thing was for sure, now that Oman was here. Life _these_ days was far more entertaining.

Ninapakcha had never had an apprentice before, so teaching Oman how to be a shaman was a totally new experience for him. Some days he swore that he’d never have an apprentice again. But at other times, like this; well, embracing his role as the Great and Powerful Shaman amused and delighted him no end.

As Ninapakcha worked, Oman was peering at him intently and firing endless questions at him. “So, this herb, and these other two – you boil them together and they make, what?”

Ninapakcha maintained a serious expression as he added the chopped leaves to the pot. “It enhances sexual prowess. Smear the resulting paste over your genitals, and Curicuillor will find you irresistible.”

Oman looked horrified. Curicuillor was a big character; a formidable, widowed matriarch with ten children and a multitude of grandchildren, who enjoyed flirting outrageously with the unwedded young men of the tribe. Ninapakcha had known her all his life, and understood that it was simply the way she expressed her warped sense of humor.

He rather admired that about her, as a matter of fact.

In the next moment, Oman proved not to be as slow as Ninapakcha, in his more frustrated interludes, sometimes uncharitably decided he was. “You’re,” Oman began, then followed it up with something in his Big City language which sounded like, “ _yankingmychain_.” He was grinning and shaking his head.

Ninapakcha managed to keep his inner laughter off his face. “Say it in Quechua,” he demanded imperiously, as he stirred the potion.

He watched as Oman struggled to find the words. “You’re joking with me,” Oman eventually managed. “I should know how to say that without thinking by now, shouldn't I? You do it often enough!”

At last Ninapakcha cracked a smile. The next moment, both he and Oman were laughing out loud. “You’re too easy,” Ninapakcha wheezed out, gasping for breath. “I can’t resist it!”

“Oh, man.” Which was more of the Big City language – and the reason for the foreign shaman’s nickname among the tribe, since he uttered that odd exclamation so often. “You’re terrible,” Oman went on in Quechua, clearly not offended in the slightest. Then he indicated the herbs he and Ninapakcha had gathered. “So what are these for, really?”

Ninapakcha got himself back under control with an effort. “Not everything has some great, solemn meaning,” he explained. “There are herbs for spiritual uses, and others for medicine. There are herbs which make the food in the pachamanka taste better. But these?” Ninapakcha strained the resulting hot liquid from the cooking pot into two bowls, and handed one to Oman, taking the other for himself. He raised his bowl in salute and took a sip of the delicious beverage. “These just make good tea!”

Oman toasted him back, his eyes sparkling with amusement, and touched the bowl Ninapakcha had given him to his lips. His pleasure at the resulting taste was obvious.

As they sat there companionably, relaxing and enjoying their tea, Ninapakcha smiled in satisfaction and the sense of a job well done. At last Oman was learning something of vital importance.

From time-to-time, even shamans needed to take a break.

 


End file.
